The Horrors of the Fourth of July
by Eris-chan
Summary: England has always been tomented by his past and on America's birthday, every year a ghostly manufestation of his former pirate self chases him, trying to take control of England. He hasn't been caught yet, but what happens when he does?
1. Chapter 1

_I pointed the gun at America, my hands trembling. _

"_Shit! Why can't I shoot you?"_

_My legs refused to hold my weight and they collapsed beneath me. The tears flowed down my face, and I sobbed in despair._

"_You used to be…so great" I heard America say sadly._

I jolted upwards in my bed, panting, the despair from the dream still lingering. _Why did I dream about that? _I look towards the calendar, dread quickly seeping into my stomach. Of course. It was July 4th, America's birthday and the day that battle had happened. _That would also explain why I feel so weak._ I look towards the clock, only just waking up. It was eight o'clock exactly. _Shit! _I jumped out of bed quickly, suddenly wide awake. _Where is he? _I looked around in a panic, changing my clothes as I did so. Just as I finished doing up the button on my pants when I heard the unmistakable sound of chains being dragged on the floor. _I have to get out of here!_ I looked around frantically, but I was trapped in my own bedroom.

"Arthur...the game has begun again."

The voice whispered through the door, making me shiver in fear. _The window! _I grabbed the lamp off of my bedside table and smashed it against it, the glass shattering beneath the force. I quickly jump through the window, making a small cut on my face in the process. I wince but don't stop running away from my house, occasionally looking over my shoulder.

8:30 am

I stop running, panting and out of breath. I'm in some kind of forest but that's all I register before collapsing to the ground wearily. I shouldn't be stopping, but I'm too tired to continue. I should explain. The very thing that is chasing me, is myself. Well more accurately, its me in the past, my pirate form. Every year on America's birthday, he chases me until it is midnight. I haven't been caught yet so I have no idea what would happen if he did. I can be guaranteed that it won't be anything good though. I sigh and stand up slowly, having gotten my breath back and look around my surroundings_. By the looks of it, I must be in Kirkland's forest, not to far from my house. Which means I should probably get a move on before he catches me! _I start to walk quickly away from my house, not sure where to go, but knowing that I have to leave quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

_10:30 am. 13 hours and 30mins remaining._

I stumble out of the forest. I haven't even caught a glimpse of Him and its making me very suspicious. The cut on my face is still bleeding heavily but there's nothing I can do to stem the flow. I'm not too far from France's house but do I really want him to see me like this? I sigh. _I don't have much of a choice. I have no supplies or anything and its not like I can just hide. He can sense my whereabouts from my aura._ I trudge up France's driveway, hesitating slightly before knocking on his door. His house is fancy and I suddenly feel out of place.

"Wanker. Just has to be better than everyone else doesn't he?" I mutter under my breath.

The door opens and France is at the doorway, his usual smirk on his face. He then notices that it's me and the smirk gets even worse.

"Ohonhonhon! What do we have here? Did you get pulled through a bush backwards imbècile?"

I glare at him, regretting stopping at his house. _Bloody wanker! _

"No I didn't," I reply tersely, not giving him the satisfaction of knowing that he has annoyed me.

His smirk fades a little as he notices the blood that has dripped onto my clothes from my face. He pulls me inside before I can complain and shuts the door.

"So why are you here imbècile?"

I shuffle my feet, hating that I have to ask him for help. "I need supplies."

"For what?" France frowns a little, obviously suspicious.

_What the hell do I tell him? Everyone already thinks I'm messed up in the head._ "I…uh…was camping and I ran out of food?"

There was a glimmer of understanding in Frances eyes, "Hiding until America's birthday is over?"

"Sort of…" I answer, relieved that France had jumped to that conclusion.

"Well sit down then imbècile, and I'll prepare some things for you." He pushes me into a chair and hands me a bandage, "Might want to cover that wound before it festers." He then leaves before I can retort in response. I gently paster the bandage onto my face carefully. The blood seeping into it almost immediately. France comes back into the room rather quickly, carrying the most basic backpack I had ever seen. He dumps the bag on my lap and starts to usher me out of the house quickly.

"Here you go imbècile."

I barely have a chance to say thankyou, before the door is slammed behind me.

"Weird." I shrug and walk around the side of France's house. _What does his backyard look like? _There were roses everywhere. _Bloody sickening this is!_ I slump onto a bench, a wave of nausea washing over me. _Don't throw up in France's garden! _I swallow the bile that has risen into my mouth, wincing at the foul taste. My gaze is then drawn to the backpack that France had given me. I gently pick it up, feeling suspicious when I hear the clink of bottles, and unzip the pocket. Inside there were three bottles of wine and some bandages.

"Grah! Bloody wanker!" I put the pack down in disgust, being careful not break any of the bottles inside.

"England?"

I sit up guiltily as I hear France call my name in confusion.

"Ohonhonhon~! Did you miss me already imbècile?" his smirk returns quickly.

"Of course not!" I growl, irritated at having been caught.

France says something in reply but I don't hear it. I freeze in fear as I hear chains jangle gleefully.

"Imbècile?"

I bolt upright, quickly slinging the backpack over my shoulder.

"England?" France looks worried now.

I glance around for the ghostly apparition. He's sitting on France's balcony, the rusty chains dangling over the edge. He smiles at me cruelly before launching himself off the edge.

"Don't you want to play Arthur?" he mocks, "Too bad."

I dodge to the side quickly as he flings a chain at me.

"What are you doing England?" France looks a little scared.

_Of course, no one else can see him. France must think I'm going insane. _I stop thinking as the apparition flings yet another chain at me. It brushes my skin as I only just manage to dodge it. A rush of anger and the need for vengeance flows through me, starting from that one spot where the chain touched me. I cry out in shock, trying to block out the flood of emotion. Pirate England seems to find my reaction amusing. Gritting my teeth I turn and run quickly, damaging plenty of rosebushes in my flight, the thorns ripping through my clothes unforgivingly.

"England! What are you doing to my rosebushes connard?!"

I feel a small amount of satisfaction at France's anger but don't stop running.

_A/N_

_I have had someone complain that my chapters are too short so please bear with me as I slowly progress!_

_Translation:_

_Imbècile- Idiot_

_Connard – Motherfucker, shithead, berk or shitass_._ ( Feel free to use which ever translation you deem appropriate ^_^ )_


	3. Chapter 3

I gently dump the backpack on the ground, hoping that none of the bottles were broken. The bottles clink but there are no tell tale sounds of shattered glass. I slump to the ground, the bile rising in my throat yet again. This time I don't hold it back and vomit over the daisies on the field that I have resided on. The sudden projectile burns my throat and I wince at the foul taste, shivering weakly. Tugging the backpack towards me, I pull out the bandages, covering the wounds that France's rosebushes left. My gaze slides over to the bottles, sparkling in the light.

"I shouldn't…." I murmur, but my self-restraint is quickly dwindling. I pull out one of the bottles, unable to translate the French writing on the label.

"Oh well….."

I open the bottle and take a large swig, ignoring the nagging voice at the back of my head, telling me to stop. The wine burns my throat pleasantly, and I already feel the buzz from the alcohol in my head. _I should stop…. _

"Fucking America! You just had to leave me!" My words are slurred and my vision fails me as I trip over. I reach for the bottle, disappointed as I realise that I have already drained its contents.

Pirate England meanwhile was hiding in the shadows, disgusted by the idea of an easy victory. Frowning he floated over to me, his chains dragging behind him.

"What do you want?" I asked venomously, but losing the menacing effect by tripping over.

"I'm here to clear your head Arthur," replied Pirate England. He reached down to touch my forehead but I flinched away from him.

"Tch," he quickly sits on me pinning me to the ground.

"Get off wanker!" I growled, overly aware of the fact he was practically straddling me.

He ignores my protests and gently puts a hand to my forehead, as if he was checking for a fever. My vision quickly restores itself and I then become aware of the danger that I am in.

"Shit!" I try to push him off me but my hands slide through his shoulders.

_Dammit! I can't touch him but he can touch me!_

He laughs at my fear, "You didn't think I would catch you while you were drunk did you? Where would the fun be in that?"

"I'm not your toy!" I growl.

"Your right. Why am I wasting precious time arguing with you?"

He cups my face in his hands, caressing my cheek gently before kissing me roughly.

"Mmph?!" I try to pull away but my muscles are frozen with fear.

He pulls away, breaking the kiss. Something feels different. I look down at myself in anxiety.

_What?!_

I'm completely transparent.

"Now you're the one that no-on can see." He smirks at my dismayed expression, "And even better is the fact that you can't touch me because I'm still wearing these chains."

He turns around and starts to walk into the night.

"Where are ywe going?" I shout, feeling myself being tugged behind him.

"I do believe I have birthday party to attend." He replies, a maniacal gleam in his eyes.


End file.
